Dove Complex
by Houghtons
Summary: She had no logical reason to help him, he had no logical reason to trust her. After all, hawks never play with doves. BubblesxBoomer
1. Forgotten and Found

Disclaimer: I do not own the Powerpuff Girls.

Hallo! As 'That Dirty Songbird' comes to end end, hither starts my new, steady BubblesxBoomer fanfiction, 'The Dove Complex'. This isn't a time skip one, oh no, it's damn real. :l I'll even try and skip over the angst! Anywho - read, review, enjoy.

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><p>Boomer felt himself a black soul in a world where only white resided.<p>

The icy rain pattered down around him, crystal clear and bitterly obvious, reminding him of the drumming of impatient fingers as it collided with the dumbly shining, steel bench he sat on.

Drops manifested around him like little grey domes, until a second collided with the current place-holder and threw it from the bench's gentle slope; Boomer didn't look.

His sodden head was raised towards the sky, golden locks plastered to the sides of his paling face; azure eyes watched the shielded heavens; a damp cigarette hung from his deep violet lips, near hypothermic, burning in it's last dying embers.

Everything was beautiful, Boomer thought. He shrugged in an attempt to shift his jacket, soaked through, from his shoulders.

It was only making him more feel worse.

Just hours ago it had been a light blue, Boomer recalled, warm and hidden under the safety of a roof. He didn't know when it would regain that tone again, from the near-black colour the wet object held now. After all, the rain was long, cold and steady, and Brick had thrown him out.

But this time, Boomer couldn't come back.

Boomer shifted his gaze from the monotone skies, looking past the reflective tawny cement to the small suburban road in front of his sitting place. The texture was rough, vile, menacing; paved with a tar that cast a weary frown on the male's face.

He hated this already.

Normally, Boomer would just go home. He'd shower, surrounded by a warm, soft steam; maybe talk to a brother. He'd watch television, eat, and sleep in the comforting warmth of his bed. He'd fly, smoke, play guitar.

Not anymore.

Boomer's hands felt like ice.

He shivered, a combination of the cold and misery. Boomer wanted to run to home, to safety, but his legs wouldn't, couldn't move from their given position.

He was weak, powerless, without Brick and Butch.

Boomer was always the extra, the crutch. From his beginnings his life's mission was to be an aide - not strength, not leadership. Boomer was ever the weary backup; the hidden soldier.

He could not survive on his own, not emotionally, not physically.

"Rain, rain, go away. Come again 'nother day." He muttered weakly, wrapping his sodden arms around himself. The cloud-ivory shirt he'd just recently revealed was already soaked through, as if the dankest ocean had rolled over it; Boomer shivered, white breath flowing from between his lips.

From the pits of his stomach, he felt a slight warmth begin to burn – exhaustion pulled at Boomer's muscles, his head spun like a carrousel. He shook his body, fighting the feeling he had come across more than once in everyday horror novels. Boomer couldn't even blow out a small fire to warm himself; his chemical energy had sucked out by the rain.

He lowered his head, sniffling at his inability to even cope with a winter's storm.

Suddenly, spasmodically, there was no water.

The droplets fell in a steady patter around Boomer; he watched them, heard them, quietly flowing into a nearby drainpipe. A rock of thunder wailed somewhere in the near distance.

Boomer was dry.

"You look sad."

He looked up, light blue eyes searching for the holder of the soft, angelic voice that had just echoed from someone nearby. On their path, they noticed a pale grey umbrella embedded with rose-red dots hanging meekly above Boomer's drenched body, shielding him from the ongoing storm.

And then, she was there.

Her cerulean eyes were soft and gentle, hair coming down in pretty blond wisps around her smooth, porcelain face. Her lips looked as perfect, soft as satin; her pale skin the same. Around the girl's petite frame was wrapped a blue faux-leather raincoat going down to the lower thigh, ebony tights, and some sort of Italian bootwear clad her well-curved legs in a perfect little package of fashion.

She was beautiful.

And horribly familiar.

"I'm fine. Shouldn't you be punching me or something right now?"

She giggled, voice like the tinkling of wind-blown silver bells. It perplexed Boomer, such an unusual noise - he had only ever heard her scream.

"You're not doing anything wrong."

"...But you hate me, Bubbles."

"Never said that."

"Your fist did." Another giggle escaped from between Bubbles' pretty lips. Her delicate eyes fluttered closed momentarily, the black lashes lush and long; "Well, then… momentary truce. I don't like to see anyone sad. You look cold too, com'ere."

Boomer stood in utter compliance, not knowing exactly why he did so. Bubbles smiled radiantly at the obedient action, her face shining like a bright morning star amongst the grey weather, and handed over the well-styled umbrella she'd harnessed over his head moments before; "Hold this. Follow me."

Boomer took it on command, the handle still warm against the ice of his skin, his mouth drawn in a relaxed curve. Bubbles began to shuffle down the pavement, the baby blue heels of her boots clicking softly in sync with nature's inflowing droplets.

Boomer's own worn Doc Martins gave wet, ugly plops over the road's filthy puddles. Gross.

"So… where are we going?" He muttered meekly, a shiver shaking his form as the cold continued to seep into his muscles, stiffening and tightening the fibres.

He couldn't go much farther.

"Home. Well, my home." Bubbles turned her head over her thin shoulder, the soft, innocent smile cast over her lips turning quickly to an upset frown as she observed Boomer's given condition; "Your lips are turning blue. I'll assume you can't fly, so we better hurry – n' don't worry, no-one's home."

All Boomer could do was nod, his drenched head lowered to the pale flesh of his strong, masculine neck, trying to keep whatever heat had remained trapped over the past few hour's duration locked inside his frail body. Bubbles' umbrella hung limply in his hand, dumbly reflecting the sky's downpour.

The following road was a short one, no further words or chats interrupting the fast pace Bubbles had set; Boomer recognized the tall, white-washed house with the minuscule round windows as he and Bubbles approached the emptied driveway.

A slight spike of caution bothered Boomer at the sight – rarely did one trust the abode of their enemies, let alone willingly step into them. Brick would've been angry.

But the house was welcoming, warm, safe - and Boomer was always the naïve, reckless one.

He threw his caution to the wind - screw enemies. Bubbles'd said truce.

The girl's light blonde locks, slightly muddled by the weather, bounced on her shoulders as she skipped up the steps to her well-worn doorway. Boomer stood a distance away, his weak, azure eyes observing as Bubbles' tiny, porcelain hands fumbled with a silvered key.

A minute later, the oaken door cheerily bounced open – Boomer felt the rush of warm, dry air brush over his face from a distance. He swallowed unsteadily, pale hands twitching instinctually towards the needed life source.

Bubbles raised her delicate eyebrows in mild amusement, her hand grasping the well-worn birch frame of the door's entrance. The blue heroine swung her free arm towards the soft-edged rectangle, meekly gesturing towards the heated space beyond; "Well? You coming or what?"

"…Mhrm."

"Good. Shake the rain off of the umbrella." Bubbles paused, raising a well-cared for finger to the ripe cherries of her lips; "…And yourself too. Yeah."

"Uh, right. Thanks." Boomer muttered, giving a violent and not necessarily willing shake of his body. Translucent water droplets scattered around; Bubbles shrieked, clutching her tiny hands close to her petite form, fruitlessly trying to shield herself from the icy spray. Boomer snickered shakily, earning himself a stern glance from the indigo heroine.

Bubbles quickly turned towards the interior, giving a curt, beckoning wave of her hand; the thin heels of her aquamarine boots gave hollow clicks against the faded linoleum as she stalked towards the home's inside. Swallowing once more, his throat constricting in protest to the act he was about to commit, Boomer lifted his dripping, honeyed locks, and shuffled gingerly over the threshold of the foreign home to follow Bubbles.

Nothing seemed to happen – no bombs fired, no smoke filled the elongated hallway as Boomer carelessly wiped his feet against the happy, cherry-toned doormat. Just the far-off ticking of an aged grandfather clock and the steady patter of the outside storm filled the room with tranquil sound.

Boomer's senses dulled slightly, an instant feeling of naïve safety flooded his helpless mind. The strong, well-built male inhaled carefully, testing the air for foreign compounds, but just the softness of warm, musky air cradled his lungs; Boomer smiled, ecstatic in himself.

"Booommmeeerrr."

Boomer's head shot up from his careful stance on the trampled floor to find an expectant Bubbles facing him, her slender, porcelain feet now bare and a light periwinkle jacket with matching shorts draping loosely over her carelessly relaxed form. Her lovely, blond hair was released from it's pigtail prison, and fell in a short golden cascade over her elegant, sculpted shoulders. Boomer blinked, throwing himself from his momentary, confusing trance.

"Wha..?"

"Your lips are turning purple, uh, get in the living room and…" Bubbles' face contorted momentarily, her lovely ashen brow creasing in thought. A light pink tint touched her cheeks as Bubbles recalled the standard method for treating hypothermics. "…and. Well, you know." Bubbles waved a hand, eyes shut in a childlike fashion and face growing to a pale crimson.

"Strip?" Boomer finished dully, his glacial mind unable to process the beyond-harmless meaning of his own words in its current state. Bubbles gasped quietly, her gentle mouth opening in a tiny 'o'.

"Yeah, that. N' be careful and stuff, tell me if you need help. I'm going to grab some blankets and make tea." Bubbles turned swiftly, her long, curved legs ready to leap away into one of the hallway's many antique, oaken doors. Boomer shifted, an automatic question bubbling from his lips before the aqua gazelle had her chance at freedom, his mind slowly beginning its thaw. The gears in Boomer's head wound and clicked, frustration boiled at his tongue; "Wait, wait, Bubbles. Stop. Just… why on earth are you being so _nice_? _To me, of all people_?"

Bubbles spun on heel, delicate locks of hair flickering about her petite shoulders; her expression was relaxed towards the inordinate request, quaint and innocent, so delicate that a bolt of shock trailed its way into Boomer's pulsing heart. In an essence of angelic purity, she spoke – softly, kindly; "Sometimes even bad people need help. You were sitting there all sad and cold," Bubbles performed a customary pause. "Like a puppy left in the rain. So I helped you; besides, you didn't look that dangerous."

"...Well what if I am dangerous. What if I'd kidnapped you or something?"

"But you didn't."

"Well what if I do, right now? This was, like, your perfect chance of getting rid of an enemy."

"Well, but.. uh. Uuh. Just…" Bubbles breathed, shutting her eyes tightly, her refined, marrow-white fists clenched in an undeniable frustration. "Just… go undress, right now mister! And no funny business!"

Before Boomer even a chance at responding, Bubbles fled the room on cloud-light feet, a thin trail of cerulean vapour following in the small girl's wake. Boomer blinked in a momentary state of confusion, clearing the leftover glacial remains from whatever was left of his brain's logic centre.

He had just about two options at the moment, as he saw it. Boomer could either take a risk by remaining in the seemingly humble heroine's abode, or he could flee. As simple as that. But… flee where? Boomer frowned, his weathered lips jutted outwards in a pondering pout.

Boomer had no home.

A musty, damp cigarette found its way in-between Boomer's lips, crackling and bitter, as the antihero accepted his only semi-logical option as the first. His damp, soaked through under-shirt came off first, landing on the floor in a hundled, dank mess. Pants, shoes, and socks came next, until the azure male was left barren of anything other than his sodden boxers. The dappled smoke the cigarette methodically blew off cloaked around Boomer in a thin stream as he listened, inhaled, and waited for a sign of Bubbles' reappearance.


	2. She walks in Beauty

Disclaimer: I do not own the Powerpuff Girls.

Hey, sorry to all that I've been absent for a while, but I've been hopping around the rest of Europe ALLLL month, and there was no internet. Or vegan food. ANYWHERE. Suffering. Anywho, I've decided to make shorter chapters with this story, but this way I'll update more frequently. Anywho, enjoy. This story'll get interesting soon. :l

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><p>The cigarette was crumpling into little black specs, its dying embers gliding smoothly to the ground by the time Bubbles stalked into the room, cup of tea in hand. In her other lay a worn, dull maroon blanket - musty and overused.<p>

Bubbles seemed calm within herself, a long stride from her previous state of flustered agitation. Boomer raised an eyebrow in inquiry of the sudden change, the ivory stump of his cigarette waving a thin trail of translucent smoke from the round edge of his lips.

Ignoring the silent question, Bubbles trailed towards Boomer in flowing motion, her peaceful eyes tranquil and kind. He watched her stride, bouncing and feminine, approach him to close proximities. Just before she passed alongside his barely clothed form, Bubbles' hand tweaked up towards Boomer's agape mouth like a soaring sparrow; he felt her slim fingers brush the edge of his bottom lip as the heroine plucked the charred cigarette's remains from him, crumpling them in-between her slim fingers without even so much as a wince from the smouldering heat.

The action took less than a split second, and Bubbles continued on her merry way past her azure counterpart. Boomer opened his mouth to speak in protest, but the noise was muffled before its start as the faded crimson blanket he had previously seen soared over his head, covering the upward expanse of his unclothed body. Boomer heard a quiet noise behind him - Bubbles had gracefully settled into a khaki-cream couch; he could feel the deep blue eyes staring intently into his frame.

Boomer smirked under his cloth prison – he swore he could feel the slight heat of a blush on her cheeks.

"What, did the fag-nude combination just overflow your sex-appealometer?" Boomer muttered carelessly, turning cheekily towards the lengthy, slim girl who sat cross-legged on the resting seat behind him. He removed the slightly damp towel from its current position over his head, carelessly casting the abused object around his neck and grasping both ends in his marrow-white fists. Boomer smirked internally, making sure to flex the lean, built muscles of his chest for emphasis.

Bubbles seemed unamused, but Boomer's deduction was quickly thrown aside as the cheeky girl squinted her eyes, Grecian nose crinkling as she stuck the pale rose of her tongue towards him; "Nnnh, I just hate smokers."

"What's wrong with smoking? I mean, don't knock it 'till you try it, fags are _delicious_."

"Pfft, you all think you're all that just because you have a burning stick in your mouth," Bubbles smiled impishly, her golden eyebrow quirking. "And you guys don't even know that you smell like rotten deer carcass."

Boomer pouted cutely in response, lifting a sculpted arm and inhaling over the pale flesh's expanse; "Hmm.. well, you're just a little off. I'd say it smells like… Jesus Christ. And peaches."

Bubbles giggled, throwing a dainty hand over her cherry lips; "Ugh, you're so full of yourself. You guys never change, huh? Rowdyruffs 'till the end, body and soul."

Boomer's expression darkened significantly at the mentioned name of the triad he'd once belonged to, swinging from the cheery proposition it had just beheld. The simple word of the Powerpuff's uttering stung his rose tongue, leaving a frail, bitter taste in his mouth. Boomer frowned, his brow creasing with helpless anger; "Rowdyruffs, my arse. I'm just Boomer."

Bubbles tilted her head, sudden concern for her childhood foe's desperate mood clouding over her lovely face. She gripped his ivory tea mug tightly between her small fingers, speaking softly; "What do you mean? Aren't you guys still together? I mean, you are brothers and everything, right?"

"Brothers, pft, that's a new one. Look, just because we were created in one place at one time doesn't make us brothers. I mean, we don't even share blood or anything," Boomer sneered, turning his sky blue eyes briefly over to his counterpart. The worried, questioning gaze remained locked on her delicate face and Boomer sighed, realizing he was bound to continue his woeful speech. Whether it was proper to spill the tale of his weakness and separation to a former enemy mattered not to him at the given moment – after all, concealing information has always been Brick's virtue, and besides -

Bubbles already knew half of the story.

"No, we're not together anymore. We haven't been for months. Well, I'm sure Brick and Butch are still a team, but I've not been in the group a long time."

"What happened?"

Boomer frowned nervously, his nimble, strong fingers playing with the fraying edges of his aged maroon towel, "Well, you… remember what happened four months ago… right?" From the corner of his eye, Boomer saw Bubbles fidget nervously, a ghostly paleness setting over her feminine features. A curt shake of the head was thrown in his direction; "No, I… I was out cold. I think Butch hit me. All I remember is waking up in our house, and Blossom… Well, Blossom—"

"I'll start after you were out then. The… the museum we were robbing, the guards came flying in after your green sister tripped the alarm. They were ready for us – just bullets, nothing we couldn't handle. You were already down by then, I think. I went to disarm them and your red sister flew after me. I smelled it then, you know - that silvery, wierd—"

"Antidote X." Bubbles whispered quietly, her voice as soft as satin. Boomer grunted quietly, lowering the golden-locked mane in quiet affirmation.

"Antidote X. I was scared then, terrified. I acted on fear - I flew away as the first shots came. Blossom was naturally avoided, but they were trailing me. I… I hid behind Butch, on instinct," Boomer bit his bottom lip, chewing the chilled and tender flesh over his next words."I grabbed Butch, and he was startled. But you know how he works n' all, slow to react - he didn't even move when the bullets hit him. But once the pain came, and his powers began to go he… he looked at me. I knew he was afraid, so afraid. And it was my fault, I didn't know what to do. B-but then, another wave of shots came, and I was still hiding behind him. And Butch… he just went off. He exploded. He shot out a beam and… and Blossom wasn't facing him. She was telling the guards to aim for Brick or something, and Butch hit her. She would've healed normally, but Butch was scared and he… he hit her across the back and… her hair. It just came off, right at the neck."

Bubbles swallowed, but refused to commentate. That December's day had been dark as pit – when Bubbles'd woken up, Blossom was no-where to be found for kilometres in compass's direction. But the crimson heroine had miraculously reappeared home two days later, filthy and dishevelled – a short, boy-like haircut swaying at the edges of her ears. Bubbles shuttered inwardly, recalling the haunted, dead look her sister had gathered on her face.

She'd never explained, and Bubbles never asked.

"Everything stopped then. Butch was unconscious, but Brick… Brick," Boomer's aquamarine eyes were wide, a torrential net of fear and regret weaving across their surface. "He was furious. He looked like someone had cut out his heart – he screamed at me, beat me, took me a distance away for the museum, off into the mountains. He said it was my fault, my fault. And then he… he told me to look at him, after I was well on the ground. I could only see from one eye, but... but he took my hand, he bit it, and then he… he took the nails and cut, cut off all of his hair. Right down to the neck." Boomer was shaking heavily now, the breaths echoing from his muscular frame in short, hated bursts. Devil's sweat beaded on his forehead and droplets of hot water sat bitterly at the edges of his azure eyes.

"He... he told me that I had to go then, that I would never come back. That I had disgusted him, that I…" Boomer swallowed one last time, his lips pale, blue and sheer.

"…had torn _her_ from him."


End file.
